


a kingdom, or this

by perennials



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, episode 11 spoilers! Fun Times, i will fight yuuri's anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8858455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: The problem is, Yuuri sees Viktor’s face light up at every performance except his own.The problem is, Yuuri takes off his glasses when he skates.The problem is, Yuuri doesn't see.





	

**Author's Note:**

> episode 11 murdered my crops punched my cat in the face burned my motivation to live down to a crisp  
> also the summary kept getting laughed at on twitter so i feel the need to explain that the third see, the one in italics, the "doesn't //see//" that see refers to yuuri not seeing viktor, yknow, cheering for him and rooting for him and jumping that fucking quadruple flip with him on the GROUND ohkay that's that i'm out  
> (the title is from captive prince apparently ive never read the got damn series but what a nice quote. is it really relevant? who knows not me)

Yuuri knows a lot of things: the sun rises in the west, the sky is green, Viktor Nikiforov is in love with him.

 

But Yuuri doesn't know a lot of things, too, like how much longer his body can hold out, the color of devotion in the eyes of a man who has only ever known devotees, and if Viktor Nikiforov is in love with him.

 

He’s not usually this indecisive.

 

But there is something dark and ugly that has climbed into the hollow in his chest, fit itself into the cavity there like a tumor. It seeps into his bloodstream like a poison, settles low in the pit of his stomach. Yuuri’s heart shivers.

 

_( ~~He loves the ice more.)~~ _

 

And Yuuri hates it, hates the black sludge in his thoughts like he hates losing, hates leaving, hates _hating_ because it’s _exhausting_ , being this fed up with yourself. He hates it. He lets it stay, lets it grow.

 

This is not the first time self-doubt has plagued him like a sudden downpour from a clear summer sky, but it is the first time he is afraid of it. There is a promise on his right hand. There is a ring. There is a man with forget-me-not eyes, and Yuuri cannot walk away.

 

What if Viktor walks away instead?

 

~~_(He loves the ice more than you.)_ ~~

 

The problem is, Yuuri sees Viktor’s face light up at every performance except his own.

 

The problem is, Yuuri takes off his glasses when he skates.

 

The problem is, Yuuri doesn't _see._

 

He skates his short program with desperation thrumming under his skin and everyone knows. When he tilts his head to the side to the beat of the music, there is no confident smirk, no darting pink tongue, no teasing kiss. In its place there is fire in his eyes, a dead-set edge to his expression that turns him from playboy into soldier.

 

When Yuuri skates this time his movements say _I’m going to win_ , instead of _dance with me_.

 

And the worst thing is, in the end, that he doesn’t, you know, win.

 

_Don’t you want to see it? To see me land a quadruple flip with a +3 GOE._

 

He tries. He really does. But the quadruple flip has never been his best friend and already their relationship is crumbling into pieces, like a cookie that's been left out for too long on the counter. One moment he is in the air, spinning, spinning, next the scrape of his skates is cutting through the music like a knife, and his hand is on the ice.

 

The fleeting sensation is like being burned by fire, Yuuri thinks.

 

So he stops thinking.

 

_Viktor’s eyes go wide with excitement, stars coruscating in a sea of brilliant blue._

 

_I do!_

 

_He spreads his arms wide and jumps, and when Yuuri catches him he slides his hands up to rest on Viktor’s back like it’s the most natural thing in the world._

 

_Viktor’s fingers are gentle in Yuuri’s hair. He beams, and Yuuri feels like he's watching the sun crack right open. The air in the rink is cold, but he’s warm all over._

 

_Yuuri grins back._

 

_Right?_

 

Right, right, wrong. The music ends, and Yuuri’s alone again, in a groggily lit toilet cubicle after the Sochi Grand Prix final, holding back tears, sobs, a year’s worth of disgust at himself.

 

The image of the gold medal flickers in his mind’s eye like a birthday candle that's just been lit. Guess who's birthday it is? Not his. He blows it out anyway. Make a wish, make a wish, wish for gold, hope for gold, skate like your soul is elsewhere and let that gold run down the drain.

 

They head back to the stands after the kiss and cry and his score has been announced to watch the rest of the programs.

 

Yuuri’s wearing his glasses now, blue frames perched on the bridge of his nose while his hair is still sleek and shiny and pushed back like a star. Yuuri’s wearing his glasses now, so when Viktor’s face does the thing where it turns all the lights on and leaves the rest of the world floundering in his wake, he notices.

 

He watches Viktor from the bottom of the stairwell, from the seat beside him, from the guest room inside his head. The dark, ugly thing is still there, only now it's bigger, the seedy voice louder than before.

 

~~(You can't surprise/amaze/excite him anymore.)~~

 

Yuuri thinks about all the ways Viktor could leave, and doesn't even begin to wonder how he could make him stay. And Viktor, too caught up in the musicality of Phichit’s program or the strength of Otabek’s resolve, doesn't notice his mind drifting, drifting, tumbling down the rabbit hole.

 

So maybe it tumbles too far. Still, it’s no one’s fault.

  


//

  


“By the way, Yuuri,” Viktor starts, “what did you want to talk to me about?” He's fresh out of the shower, hair still wet and matted to his forehead while a towel is slung around his neck to catch stray droplets of water. He’s beautiful.

 

Yuuri puts down his phone. Stills the earthquake-tremor in his clenched hands. Looks back up, and meets Viktor’s steady gaze.

 

“Right,” he says.

 

Viktor doesn't reply, just sits and watches and waits, like he always does. It isn't something Yuuri would've thought of at first, _Viktor Nikiforov_ being synonymous with _patient_ and _understanding_ , but then and again Yuuri could never have thought of coming this far at all. Now, holding Viktor feels like he's holding a fraction of home— or maybe even the whole thing. Those little, feather-light touches are confident gestures now: a firm hand on his shoulder, fingers curved around his waist, a chaste kiss on the cheek.

 

See, Yuuri knows a lot of things, like how the sun sets every day, his competitive skating career is coming to an end, and he is in love with Viktor Nikiforov.

 

And he knows the last truth the best. Knows it like a friend, like his favorite song, like it’s tattooed onto the inside of his wrist.

 

It’s okay if Viktor’s love is like a catchy radio tune that grates on your ears after a few days. It’s okay if he wants to return to the ice. Yuuri doesn’t mind.

 

Eight months of a miracle is so much more than enough.

 

He takes a small, shaky breath.

 

Viktor smiles at him, and quietly, quietly, Yuuri feels his heart crack open.

 

“After the final, let’s end this.”

**Author's Note:**

> wow guess who said they were gonna reply to all their comments i'm sure it wasn't me fuck  
> shit  
> well  
> thanks @ kubo for the trainwreck i almost had a heartattack at five in the morning that was fun! enjoyable! the best!  
> also there's only a week left until yoi **** (you know what that word is im not typing it i aint fuckin sayin it) what am i going to do with myself after that. what am i. what  
> anyway i'm a wreck that slept at 6:30 in the morning and then got up at 11 and dozed on and off throughout the day so this is not my best work, for sure, but if ya liked it consider leaving a kudo or a comment as usual i guess. i dunno. suit yourself  
> my twitter is @ nikiforcvs if you want to fight me on whether or not yuuri means the coach/student relationship or their entire relationship when he says "let's end this", though i'm wavering in between tbh lol this was just easier to write
> 
> have a good one


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